


Out on Location: R P Tyler

by in_a_pickle



Series: Inaccurate versions of a well thumbed classic [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Comedy, Happy Ending, M/M, Romance, Unwanted attention, dastardly moustache twirling villain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_a_pickle/pseuds/in_a_pickle
Summary: R P Tyler finished his second large whisky and his red veined cheeks started to flush in the warmth of the lounge. “But I’ve always found you (he clinked their glasses) the most amiable of men, well mannered, polite, intelligent and you obviously look after yourself.” He picked up the whisky bottle and offered Aziraphale a top up, who declined with a small hand gesture over his glass, and poured himself a good stiff measure.Aziraphale gets a visitor one evening who hasn’t come to see him about the church cleaning rota.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Inaccurate versions of a well thumbed classic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1902556
Kudos: 4





	Out on Location: R P Tyler

**Author's Note:**

> You do need to read the first part of this AU series to understand this follow-on fic. Just a bit of fun exploring village life and the characters who live there.

**Tadfield Cottage, South Downs.**

Aziraphale wiggled in delight and clapped his hands, his new online antique book shop ‘Good Tome Ends‘ had just sold its first book, a pristine edition of ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ (illustrated) and it had fetched a tidy sum. He closed his laptop with a satisfied snap and stood up from the kitchen table and stretched, he looked at the clock for the umpteenth time that day, it was Friday evening at last, not long to wait now.

He rummaged around in a cupboard and drew out a bottle of champagne that he put in the fridge to celebrate when Crowley arrived from London later. He hadn’t seen him since the Christmas holidays and it was now mid-January and no amount of texts or calls could fill the Crowley shaped hole that now smouldered in his absence, even the sofa looked miserable without him.

Aziraphale wandered through into the lounge and put another couple of logs in the wood-burner, it was freezing outside and he knew Crowley would appreciate the warmth later. He looked at the photograph on the mantelpiece taken on Christmas Eve at the local pub The Bull and Fiddle. It was just before midnight and they were quite a few bottles in. Aziraphale was looking at the camera the biggest smile ever plastered across his angelic cheeks and Crowley on his left, shades in place as usual, was looking at him one could say adoringly. He stroked his thumb over Crowley’s image and smiled like the pathetic love sick idiot that he was.

He straightened the blue tartan throw on the back of the sofa, plumped up the cushion on the wing back chair and hid the chilly evening away behind a pair of thick grey curtains. Right, maybe a shower and a quick crossword might pass the time and quell the flight of butterflies that had stirred in his tummy.

He was all wrapped up in a fluffy bathrobe towelling his curly hair dry when the doorbell rang, he looked out of the bedroom window. There was no car so part of him was slightly relieved that Crowley hadn’t arrived before he’d got himself properly worked up and buzzing with anticipation. The bell rang again and Aziraphale looked around his room for something half decent to wrap around himself to answer the door. He plucked the navy and green tartan smoking jacket (Crowley’s well chosen Christmas present) off the back of the bedroom door and shucked on a pair of thin navy blue cotton pyjama bottoms.

Sliding into his slippers at the bottom of the stairs he opened the front door wondering who would be wandering down this way in the dark? It was a tidy step from the village.

“Mr Fell! I’m so glad I found you at home, been a blasted cold day today, don’t you think?”

“Mr Tyler, what a pleasant surprise.” He said dolefully.

“Oh please, call me Ronald, would you mind if I stepped inside, I won’t keep you.” said Mr R P Tyler squeezing past Aziraphale into the narrow hallway which proved a little snug and his well fed belly brushed Aziraphale’s as he inched past. A note of distilled malt floated past his nose. Not unusual.

He stood there for a moment admiring Aziraphale’s ensemble. “It’s so refreshing to see that the smoking jacket is still alive and well in a true gentleman’s leisure wear.” He patted the navy lapel cheekily.

Aziraphale smiled awkwardly, if he had a choice of house guest to be semi-naked in front of tonight, Mr R P ‘village busy body’ Tyler certainly wasn’t the one.

R P Tyler looked him over once again in approval and removed his green shooting jacket, handing it to his host, his grey moustache wiggled enthusiastically no reason for his visit yet forthcoming.

“Please, come through to the lounge,” Aziraphale said with a sigh, gesturing him in to the warm room. “Take a seat.”

He indicated to the comfortable wing back chair where he now spent many an enjoyable hour sitting across from Crowley thrashing him at board games. Except snakes and ladders, Crowley appeared to have a preternatural aptitude towards that one and was currently up 10 games to nil.

“I’ll just warm up, it’s a damn chilly night.” He rubbed his hands together theatrically over the burner, humming. “Do you mind being so far away from civilisation?”

“Oh, I quite like it actually, but of course it’s always nice to have the odd guest popping by.” He tried to look convincing.

R P Tyler ran his hand over his neatly trimmed grey facial hair, “It _was_ quite the walk over here, thirsty work, you know.” He looked at him expectantly.

 _Drat!_ Aziraphalethought. “Can I offer you a drink . . ?” he said instead, resigned, “a cup of tea, coffee . . . . ?” No answer, just a furious rubbing together of palms. He reluctantly widened the choices, “wine . . . whisky?”

R P Tyler’s heavily bagged blue eyes suddenly lit up at this offer and he gave Aziraphale a conspiratorial wink. “Well, I’m not one who usually goes in for the hard stuff so early . . .”

Liar, smiled his host.

“But it is Friday evening and if you’re in the mood for some company, well I suppose I could stay a while, would be rude not to have a little sharpener, eh?” He laughed, his grey brows waggling above his watery blue eyes.

Aziraphale went into the kitchen and leaned his arms on the kitchen table rubbing his hands over his face, he looked up at the clock. The last thing he needed was R P Tyler here when Crowley arrived, he’d been pining for him since New Year and he bloody well deserved a spectacular reunion. He retrieved one of his nicer bottles of whisky from the drinks cupboard, turned it over in his hands and then put it back in favour of a less expensive one, he had a feeling R P Tyler may not be one for appreciating the intricacies of a well aged scotch. 

“Now, Mr Tyler . . .” Aziraphale returned with two tumblers and a bottle of 10 year old Glenmorangie.

R P Tyler held up a finger, “Ronald, if you please.” he said with a coy smile.

“Ronald, what exactly was it that bought you all the way out here to see me on a cold, dark, January evening?”

Aziraphale sat down on the sofa near the fire and poured out two modest shots of whisky, R P Tyler looked at them and inclined his head in an encouraging twitch, they begrudgingly became two large shots.

R P Tyler left his warm spot by the wood-burner and came and sat down on the sofa next to his host, hitching his trousers up above the knee before he sat down. Aziraphale tried to overlook that there was a perfectly good empty arm chair on the other side of the table, and passed him his tumbler. R P Tyler’s now very warm fingers briefly brushed over his and Aziraphale’s brain unconsciously started to move around one or two pieces of a rather unsettling jigsaw puzzle.

“Well, my wife is. . . erm . . . currently visiting her sister in Brighton and I thought it would be a good opportunity to come over here and welcome you back into village life. I am after all the chairman of the village residents’ association, founder of our neighbourhood watch scheme and of course deputy chairman of the local Rotary club. He looked very pleased with this information.

“How very kind of you, but you really shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble . . .”

“I also contribute regularly to the Advertiser, you might have read a few of my letters in the paper, very important you know to make sure this village isn’t going to rack and ruin. I was hoping that now you have settled back in you would join us on several of the committees? We’re always looking for new blood.”

He fixed Aziraphale with an expectant stare that had been honed from years of coercing unwitting villagers into being respectable members of the community. The sort of look that has you signing up to the monthly church cleaning rota without you ever offering to do so.

“Of course, yes, I’d be happy to think about it.”

“Marvellous,” he blustered on, setting his empty tumbler on the table and leaning in towards Aziraphale, a little too close for comfort. Aziraphale thought for an awful moment he was going to put his hand on his knee. “There was another reason for my visit, village gossip, dreadful thing, don’t really listen to it myself, but I had heard your American . .” he bumbled audibly as he searched for a word, “ _friend_ , had returned to the U.S of A.”

“Yes he has, we’re no longer. . . . erm . . . friends, as you call it.” Aziraphale shifted his legs a fraction nearer the wood-burner.

“Can’t say I’m sorry, but I imagine you’re soldiering on, keeping your pecker up.”

Aziraphale refreshed R P Tyler’s glass, he tipped a smidge into his own untouched one, “oh, I’m really quite alright thank you.” Thinking his pecker had been up far more times recently than he’d care to share. “Actually I do have . . . “

“Ah, Ah, Ah,” He interrupted, “we’re all told these days to keep an eye on our neighbour’s mental health, and what with you out here all alone, it’s easy to be forgotten, don’t you think.” He took another large gulp of whisky, Aziraphale heard the loud swallow as it went down his chicken-skinned throat. He took a fortifying sip of his own.

“I’m not actually . . . “

“Truth is, Mr Fell,” he interrupted, “I didn’t really warm to Mr. Crawly, thought you could do much better, found him a bit ‘off’ to be honest with you.”

“I can’t say I noticed.” Aziraphale said dismissively, not recounting the numerous times he heard the mutter of ‘bloody Yank’ as R P Tyler strode past them whilst walking his wife’s miniature poodle.

R P Tyler finished his second large whisky and his red veined cheeks started to flush in the warmth of the lounge. “But I’ve always found you (he clinked their glasses) the most amiable of men, well mannered, polite, intelligent and you obviously look after yourself.” He picked up the whisky bottle and offered Aziraphale a top up, who declined with a small hand gesture over his glass, and poured himself a good stiff measure.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale hazarded as an answer, and because his ingrained politeness obviously wanted this situation to spiral uncontrollably down a terrifying path said, “I have also always admired you as a pillar of the community, you seem so well put together and on top of things.” He inwardly cringed.

R P Tyler’s moustache and eyebrows performed an interestingly choreographed duet accompanied by a couple of harrumphs and the clearing of a rogue amphibian in his windpipe. A white liver spotted hand came to rest on his knee.

*****

Crowley was somewhere south of Gatwick airport trying in vain to hurtle through the Friday night traffic in his hire car. He had approximately 48 hours to spend in Aziraphale’s company and he wanted to make use of every minute of it.

He’d packed lightly, the case of red wine outweighing the contents his suitcase and beside him on the passenger seat was a hot off the press copy of ‘Classic & Sports Car’ magazine. Crowley had single handedly smooth-talked his way into a new job within a month (he had been told where he could stick a reference since they were fired from their respective jobs in October) and was now Features Editor of this particular periodical. It suited him perfectly.

The bright red snake of red tail lights eventually began to break up and he put his foot down, heading towards Aziraphale’s small cottage in the South Downs.

*****

Aziraphale looked at R P Tyler’s boney hand. This development could suggest that R P Tyler was either hitting on him or had drunkenly mistaken him for his wife. As Mrs Tyler was also a well covered pleasant lady with permed white hair and soft white hands this could be a distinct possibility. Aziraphale grasped on to it, the other outcome too appalling to contemplate.

“Mr. . . Ronald” He said awkwardly to the whisky tumbler on the table, not wanting to look him in the face for what he feared he might find there. “I’m expecting a weekend guest very shortly and I’ve a few things I need to attend to before they arrive.”

R P Tyler removed his hand and wiped it over his whiskery chin, his mind elsewhere, his eyes were becoming glazed and his speech a little loose. He took a deep breath and swigged back the third very large whisky of the night, Aziraphale was glad he had put back his bottle of 21 year old Balvenie.

“The thing is Mr Fell, I. . . wanted to speak to you . . . man to man as it were. You being very much a . . . harrumph . . man.

Aziraphale glanced nervously at the clock on the mantelpiece, Crowley would be here soon, he was feeling a little out of his depth and wished the neck of his smoking jacket wasn’t quite so open, several blond hairs peeking out. He crossed his legs and hoped R P Tyler wouldn’t notice his delicate white ankles.

*****

Crowley turned off the A23 at Brighton, shortly he would be arriving at Tadfield Cottage, a warm smile settled on his mouth. This long drive would be worth it once he opened the front door and Aziraphale would be there looking at him like he was the most wonderful person on Earth. 

There it was, he was officially a sap, he might as well start listening to Marvin Gaye.

*****

R P Tyler stood up and paced around the lounge, he kept making noises like he was going to speak then they disappeared in a cloud of throat clearing and words such as ridiculous, embarrassing, humiliating. Aziraphale carefully removed his whisky tumbler from the table and hid it under the sofa.

“The thing is Mr Fell,” he finally bumbled out, “is that you’re a man and I’m a man and sometimes for whatever reason, a man can find himself seeking some male company in a way certain men do.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure where this was going, though he had a suspicion he may be one of those ‘certain men’, he just knew that there was no way now he was going to stop those words from finding their inevitable conclusion. If his assumptions were correct then the chairman of the village residents association was about to make a very brave move and come out to him. He would do his best to make this as comfortable for him as he could.

Aziraphale downed the equivalent of a triple shot of Glenmorangie and smiled encouragingly. “Do go on, please.”

“And despite trying to fight it for many years, I came here tonight to tell you that . . . . from the first moment I saw you I felt a longing I had never felt before.” The last piece of the jigsaw puzzle clicked horrifically in to place.

R P Tyler’s pale blue eyes grew hungry as he ran them over the catatonic form of his host, who looked like a rabbit in the crosshairs of a gun the split second before it realised that it was going to be lunch. He took the lack of protest as a signal of encouragement and he picked the whisky bottle off the table and swigged from it, his eyes wide and his mouth glistening with the malty liquor.

“That Yank was never good enough for you, you need a real man” he lowered his voice to a husky whisper, “a man like me.”

“Ronald . . . “ Aziraphale spluttered backing further in to the sofa, “I’m flattered, really I am, but I do think it’s time . .”

“Oh shush Mr Fell, don’t be shy, you’ve got absolutely nothing to be afraid of,” R P Tyler slurred plopping himself down on to the sofa beside Aziraphale. “This can just be between you and me eh!” His eyes were shining and he started to saucily walk his fingers up Aziraphale’s shin.

*****

Crowley was daydreaming, he was back on the beach on Christmas Day. Aziraphale had suggested a seaside walk after lunch and had fussed around him wrapping him up in all manner of ridiculous warm things that would never be seen within a 100 miles of his wardrobe. But they did smell nice and well it was bloody cold outside.

It had been one of those beautiful bright steely blue days, where the wind stung your cheeks and your nostrils ached with the cold. The tide was out exposing a little sand below the shingle to walk on and the waves lapped at the shore in a rhythmic stanza. A few other brave souls were on the beach, one with a bounding dog, another maybe seeking solace from overbearing relatives, parents with over-excited children. Crowley slipped his hand into Aziraphale’s and squeezed it through the layers of wool. He had felt something that day, something real, something he didn’t quite recognise.

Aziraphale had stopped and turned to him his cheeks attractively flushed and his nose tipped pink, radiating absolute happiness, it’s warmth winding itself around Crowley’s jaded bones.

He had held Aziraphale’s face in his gloved hands and Crowley had kissed his warm mouth softly, they were touched with the salty tang of the sea. Aziraphale had wrapped his arms tightly around him and they had stayed like that for a while, just enjoying the moment together. It had been a perfect Christmas. 

*****

Aziraphale leapt up off the sofa and now had his back to the decorative pile of wood stacked in the alcove beside the wood-burner. If he could just negotiate past the wing back chair he might have a chance of running out the front door and hiding in the hydrangeas until Crowley arrived. It might be January and zero degrees but the alternative was far less appealing. R P Tyler also jumped to his feet in anticipation and took another large swig from the bottle.

“Come here my pretty boy.”

“Ronald . . Mr Tyler!” he was stalling for time, scrabbling around and searching for a distraction. “Have you talked about this with Mrs Tyler, is that why she’s in Brighton?” He eyed his escape route tactically.

A cloud flashed over R P Tyler’s face for a second, befuddling him for a moment and Aziraphale took the opportunity to escape, he jumped over the wing backed chair and ran for the lounge door. Even in his half-stupor R P Tyler’s stint in the army volunteer reserve had prepared him for moments like this, like lighting he lunged after him, his hand missed his target but left him attached to his quarry by the tail end of an expensive blue belt.

“Ah Ha! Gotcha! You want to play like that do you?” Aziraphale backed away until the hall wall stopped his retreat, quick as a wink R P Tyler placed a hand next to his left shoulder across the narrow hallway blocking his exit. Aziraphale, blonde haired chest and tummy now on display resigned himself to the fact that he would (regrettably) soon have to use physical violence against this old man to free himself. R P Tyler slid the rest of the blue belt free and put his other hand against the wall on Aziraphale’s right side trapping him. Aziraphale’s knee twitched, he was going to have to go for a bullseye in the nutcrackers.

He heard tyres on the gravel outside.

“I have to set the beast writhing within me free.” R P Tyler’s breath was hot on his face, eyes wild.

A car door shut.

“I really rather you didn’t.”

Footsteps crunched closer.

“Stop being such a tease.”

A key in the lock.

”There is such a thing a consent you know.”

The front door opened, R P Tyler leaned forward lasciviously.

“Kiss me, you divine man!” 

“Good evening gentlemen,” a smooth voice interjected.

A beat in time, both men turned towards the sound.

“YOU!” Bellowed R P Tyler, unpinning Aziraphale from his compromising position and looking at Crowley who seemed completely unruffled at the scene in front of him. “You’re back!”

“Yes, just in time by the looks of things.” He pulled his dark glasses down and looked at a half naked Aziraphale who appeared to be sliding down the wall.

“But you’re supposed to be in America.” He pointed accusingly at the infiltrator.

Aziraphale gathered himself together, he may have just had a rather narrow squeak but he was nothing if not a good host and he felt duty bound to give an introduction in his own home.

”Mr Tyler.” He said “Ronald. This is _not_ Mr Crawly, this is Mr. Crowley. They do look rather similar and are both called Anthony but Mr Crowley, although he’d never admit it, is rather nice, a lot nicer than perhaps Mr Crawly was. Mr Crawly is still in America and Mr Crowley is my house guest for the weekend.” There that should have cleared up any confusion.

“And this . . Ronald,” Crowley said with a measured degree of menace nodding his head towards Aziraphale “is my _boyfriend_ and I’d rather like him back . . . please.” He showed far too many teeth in his wide predatory smile.

R P Tyler deflated like a huge air balloon shot out of the sky with a blunderbuss and he sank slowly to the floor, the reality of the situation starting to cut through the whisky haze like a knife.

Crowley stepped over the crumpled form of the chairman of the village residents’ society picking the soft blue belt from R P Tyler’s grasp. He straightened Aziraphale’s smoking jacket and wrapped it comfortably over his bare torso, looping the belt around the back and tying it gently in front of him. He smoothed the material down his arms and placed a lingering kiss on his lips.

“Whilst my questions can wait, I take it that you handled that situation with your usual finesse?” 

“Impeccably, my dear.” 

“Then perhaps after I have given Mr Tyler a lift home, I could carry on where he left off?”

“I’d like that very much.”

Crowley smiled and kissed the top of his head, he looked down at the humiliated bundle of initials that refused to meet his eye, took the green shooting jacket from the hook and reached out a hand.

“C’mon Ron, let’s get you home, no hard feelings eh?”

R P Tyler stood up shakily, pushing away his hand, the alcohol fleeing his bloodstream. “It’s Mr. Tyler to you, young man,” he said and stomped out of the door, Crowley followed him shaking his head.

Aziraphale closed it behind them and leaned his back against the cool glass, the word _boyfriend_ hovering just where Crowley had left it. He snatched it out of the air and held it close to his heart.


End file.
